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don. I thought it would not be much out of my way to go through Gloucestershire, and call upon my friends there. Accordingly, I set out, but remembered nothing that happened by the way till I came to my father's house; when I went to the front door and tried to open it, but found it fast. Then I went to the back door, which I opened and went in ; but finding all the family were in bed, I crossed the rooms only, went upstairs, and entered the chamber where my father and mother were in bed. As I went by the side of the bed on which my father lay, I found him asleep, or thought he was so; then I went to the other side, and having just turned the foot of the bed, I found my mother awake, to whom I said these words: “Mother, I am going a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye.' Upon which she answered in a fright, 'Oh, dear son, thou art dead !' With this I awoke, and took no notice of it more than a common dream, except that it appeared to me very perfect.

“In a few days after, as soon as a letter could reach me, I received one by post from my father; upon the receipt of which I was a little surprised, and concluded something extraordinary must have happened, as it was but a short time before I had a letter from my friends, and all were well. Upon opening it I was more surprised still, for my father addressed me as though I were dead, desiring me, if alive, or whose ever hands the letter might fall into, to write immediately; but if the letter should find me living, they concluded I should not live long, and gave this as the reason of their fears : That on a certain night, naming it, after they were in bed, my father asleep and my mother awake, she heard somebody try to open the front door ; but finding it fast, he went to the back door, which he opened, came in, and came directly through the rooms upstairs, and she perfectly knew it to be my step; but I came to her bedside, and spoke to her these words : ‘Mother, I am going a long journey, and have come to bid you goodbye.' Upon which she answered me in a fright, 'Oh, dear son, thou art dead !'-which were the circumstances and words of my dream. But she heard nothing more, and saw nothing more; neither did I in my dream. Much alarmed she woke my father, and told him what had occurred; but he endeavoured to appease her, persuading her it was only a dream. She insisted it was no dream, for that she was as perfectly awake as ever she was, and had not the least inclination to sleep since she was in bed.

“From these circumstances I am inclined to think it was at the very same instant when my dream happened, though the distance between us was about one hundred miles; but of this I cannot speak positively. This. occurred while I was at the academy at Ottery, Devon, in the year 1754, and at this moment every circumstance is fresh upon my mind. I have, since, had frequent opportunities of talking over the affair with my mother, and the whole was as fresh upon her mind as it was upon mine. I have often thought that her sensations as to this matter were stronger than mine. What may appear strange is, that I cannot remember

anything remarkable happening hereupon. This is only a plain, simple narrative of a matter of fact.”

As the Rev. Joseph Wilkins points out, at the conclusion of this marvellous story, nothing remarkable followed it; his own death, which his mother had so much feared was portended, did not take place until November 22, 1800, when he was in the seventieth year of his age. The Gentleman's Magazine, in its obituary of Wilkins, remarked that, "for liberality of sentiment, generosity of disposition, and uniform integrity, he had few equals and hardly any superiors.”


OULTON High House, in Suffolk, now a school, was long known as "the Haunted House." It was built in 1550 by one of the Hobarts, and still retains a fine old mantelpiece, and other curious carved work, as ancient as the house itself. It is popularly believed to have acquired its ill-omened title on account of some deed of darkness committed within its precincts. At midnight, according to tradition, a wild huntsman and his hounds, together with a white lady carrying a poisoned cup, are supposed to issue forth and go their feverish rounds.

The origin of one member of this spectral group is traced back to the reign of George II., and the story is that the owner at that period of the High House, a roystering squire, returning home from the chase unexpectedly, discovered his wife with an officer, his guest, in too familiar a friendship. High words followed, and the injured husband striking his wife's lover, the man drew his sword and drove it through his assailant's heart. The assassin and his guilty love fled, carrying away with them all the jewels and gold they could obtain possession of.

After a lapse of several years the guilty woman's daughter, who had been forgotten in the hasty departure, having grown to womanhood, was affianced to a youthful farmer of the neighbourhood. A bleak November night, on the eve of the marriage, as the happy pair were sitting together in the old hall, a carriage, black and sombre as a hearse, with closely-drawn curtains, and attended by servants clad in sable liveries, drew up to the door. These men, who were masked, rushed into the hall, and seizing the young girl, carried her off in the carriage to her unnatural mother, after having stabbed her betrothed as he vainly endeavoured to rescue her. A grave is stated to be pointed out in the cemetery at Namur, as that in which was laid the corpse of the unhappy daughter, her mother having, so it is alleged, completed the catalogue of her crimes by poisoning the hapless girl. And after that, there is little wonder that the old residence was haunted by the spectre of the wretched woman, as wife and as mother equally criminal. As to what the weird huntsman and his ghostly hounds signify, tradition is silent.



LIKE most of the older foundations of Alma Mater, Queen's College has had its ghost. The Rev. Mr. More of Leyton, Essex, formerly of Queen's, Oxford, a man of veracity and learning, who died in 1778, left this story of an apparition that favoured his own college with a visit.

Mr. John Bonnell was a commoner of Queen's College, Oxford. He was remarkable in his person and gait, and, from a peculiar manner he had of holding up his gown behind, might be recognised almost as readily by his back as by his face.

“On Sunday, November the 18th, 1750, at noon, Mr. Ballard, who was then of Magdalen College, and myself,” says Mr. More, “were talking together at Parker's door. I was then waiting for the sound of the trumpet for dinner, and suddenly Mr. Ballard cried out, ' Dear me, who is that coming out of your college ? ' I looked, and saw, as I supposed, Mr. Bonnell, and replied, “He is a gentleman of our house, and his name is Bonnell; he comes from Stanton Harcourt.' 'Why, bless me,' said Mr. Ballard, 'I never saw such a face in all my life. I answered slightly, ‘His face is much the same as it always is ; I think it is a little more inflamed and swelled than it is sometimes, perhaps he has buckled his band too tight, but I should not have

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